The Last of the Bombshells
by Trivial Pursuit
Summary: Even if she would never admit it to his face, Ziva's father was right, you can't count on anybody but yourself.
1. Chapter 1: Bored to Sobs

**Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction so please be kind. Also I am not religious but I do not intend to offend anyone, religious or otherwise, with this story. Any knowledge of Judaism came from Wikipedia and my not be correct, if so please tell me and I shall endeavor to correct it post haste.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own and am not associated with NCIS or it's affiliates. I own nothing except the plot.**

I sat on the cold bench and took a long drag on my cigarette. I held the hot smoke until it burned my lunges and I could hold it no more then pushed it, the smoke swirled around my head for a moment before dissipating into the night.

'Jesus Ziva, cigarettes? You have not smoked since you were in the army!' I berated myself as I took another long drag, 'The only way this could possibly be more pathetic was if I was drinking out of a brown paper bag.'

My mobile trilled sharply snapping me out of my reverie. I didn't need to even look at the caller i.d. to know who it was, I glanced at the tray of now cold coffees sitting beside me, I'd been gone for over an hour. I really had just meant to go get coffee but I simply couldn't stand to watch Tony moon over Agent Barrett any longer. God, watching them was nauseating, thus the smoking. I reluctantly got up and flicked the butt of my cigarette onto the ground. I let the phone ring a few more times before scooping it up and flicking it open.

'David.' I wonders if I'll ever get the chance to be just Ziva. Of course not, I'll always be Officer, Miss, Operative, or Agent David, not just plain old Ziva, never Ziva.

'David where the hell are you?' Gibbs asks tersely. Honestly does that man ever start a conversation with 'hi' or 'how you doin'?'.

'On my way.', but by the time I said this he'd already hung up. Irritated and feeling the oncoming despair begin to envelope me, I stuck my hand in my pocket and felt around for the little orange pill bottle. I fished out a couple of tablets and chased them down with a slug of cold coffee. I thought back to my bathroom counter, I was currently on about 10 different pills, anti-depressants, about 4 different painkillers, sleeping pills, a whole bunch of stuff for my supposed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, plus all the normal stuff. At this point I figured I could stock a small chemist's. Nobody knew about this, not even my agency quack, I had gone to an independent shrink using the alias Talia Ben-Gurion, the pills and the shrink helped and if my time at Mossad had taught me anything it was how to hide how I felt.

I slowly walked back to the Navy Yard. When I arrived I was largely ignored by my coworkers. I left work at 7 and although I said goodnight to everyone nobody wished it to me in return, indeed few even responded. I went home and got really drunk. Alone.

~o~

Recently, whenever I looked at myself in the mirror I was struck by how much older I looked then when I started at NCIS. My hair had lost some of it's luster and some days I would swear that I could see a few greys, my mouth had taken on a twist of cruelty in the corners, most importantly though, my eyes were dead, they no longer had the same sparkle and reminded me of my father's eyes, the eyes of a killer.

~o~

The next day when I got to work when the elevator doors slid open I was greeted by 3 angry scowls.

'You're late', Gibbs.

'Good morning Ziva. How nice to see you on this fine day.' I snarled sarcastically

'What the hell Ziva? You're over an hour late, you're never late!', Tony nearly shouted.

'What is the issue? Tony is late nearly every day.'

'It wouldn't but you have an undercover assignment.' said Vance.

I open my mouth to protest. What about my shrink, my medication, my trust issues, my insomnia, my nightmares? But they do not know about all those things and I want to keep it that way, and refusing an assignment means explanations, explanations that I do not want to give, explanations that would land me on 'mental health leave' or a god-awful desk job. Losing my place with the team would break me. So I shut my mouth.

'We are chasing a serial killer who goes after non-Christian members of the Navy, we have no idea who he is and the only connection that the murders have is that at least one member of the couple works for the Navy and the other works in some other government position, so you two are going to be bait.' Gibbs says.

'You and Agent DiNozzo will be going under cover as Eris and Jonathan Silverberg. You met when Jonathan was stationed in Tel Aviv. You are a happily married couple, you have no children and no immediate family, in Jonathan's case it is simply because he was an only child whose parents died a few years back, but Eris's case it is because she was in the car when her entire family died in a roadside bombing when she was 14 as a result of this she is more religious then her husband. You are both Reform Jews and go to synagogue every week. Jonathan works at NCIS and Eris is a translator for the Pentagon. You will receive a more extensive file on your covers shortly.' said Vance

Shit, I think, how in the hell am I going to get the medication I need without Tony know while sleeping in the same bed. I make copies of my prescription and go and get it filled out at 5 different chemist's them the ones I typically go to and shove the tiny orange bottles into the false bottom of my bag. I pack all the necessary clothes and weapons on top of them, then I reach under my bed and pull out something I thought I'd never touch, my mother's _tallit_ and one of my father's _kippot_, the _kippah_ was midnight blue velvet and worked over in silver embroidery, it had been handmade by my mother. I lift the shawl out of the tissue and wrap it around my shoulders, drunk on her scent, quickly lost in memories, but just as quickly I'm brought back to reality, I haphazardly refold it and shove the box into my bag. I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk outside, Tony is waiting for me in the car, a blue Jeep Cherokee. I toss the bag in the back and prepare to enter the car as Eris Silverberg.


	2. Chapter 2: Scherzo in G

Author's note: This chapter isn't as good as the first one

Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with NCIS, IKEA, or Eileen Fisher

I have decided that Eris Silverberg is essentially the same as Ziva David but not as deadly and much more scarred. We arrived at the house, it was a charcoal box with tons of windows and a rooftop patio, all glass and steel. I lugged my bags to the door and Tony followed suite, he dropped his bags, fished out the key, and opened the door, but before I could push past him he picked me up bridal style and carried me over the threshold, I stared daggers at him, the I-will-kill-you-with-a-paperclip look, he dropped me in a hurry. I went back outside and scooped up my bags, most of the clothes I brought I bought in Israel and are light and simple.

The house was just as cold, sleek, and modern on the inside as it was on the outside, with stainless steel appliances, white marble countertops, a palette consisting entirely of blues, greys, blacks, and whites. There were a few photos of Tony and I at various functions and on missions, some photo shopped, most not. A modern chrome menorah sat on the marble mantle, all twisted, polished metal and sharp edges; this was not the home of people who ever intend on having kids. We made our way to the master bedroom, it followed the same theme as the lower level, the bed was a modern white canopy, with blue and grey sheets, it was covered in fluffy duvets and soft pillows but still managed to look forbidding. We tossed our bags on the floor and continued exploring our new home. The bathroom was essentially one big shower area, everything, including the domed ceiling covered in white subway tiles, with a freestanding glass tub and glass pedestal sink. We go back downstairs and look around some more the living room. Many of the items in the house I recognized from the Ikea catalogue sitting in my bathroom at home, while some items of furniture were clearly designer. I left Tony perusing the DVD collection and headed back to the master bedroom, vaguely planning on hanging up our clothes and finding a place to hide my pills. I threw open the closets and was met by a surprising sight, the closet was full of meticulously sorted clothes that the nice people who built covers thoughtfully assumed we would require for our covers. Tony's half was full of black and grey suits, crisp button-downs, and highly polished oxfords, while mine had loose blouses, skirts, and a combination of clothes that would make me look like a poster girl for Eileen Fisher. I pulled out the rest of my clothes and added them to the mix. That done I went off to search for a place to stash my pills, thoughtfully I pulled out one of the books I brought along, it was some penny dreadful, but it was a thousand pages long and would serve its purpose. After hollowing out the center I put all the pills in baggies, carefully labeling each bag with the name and dosage of the pill, that done I cram each little bag into the hole and close the book, putting it in the nightstand on the side of the bed I had already claimed as my own.  
I moved back downstairs to the living room and peruse the book shelves, helpfully stocked with books in every language I speak, and a few I don't. Tony is still blissfully ignorant to what I was doing upstairs, his eyes glued to the TV. I pulled out one of the books at random, Machiavelli's The Prince, and started to walk to the stairs, but then remembering myself I went back and give Tony a quick kiss, he looked up at me, startled.

'Night Jonathan' I said

'Night.' He mumbled

~o~

I couldn't help staring when Ziva kissed me, I was confused for a moment, forgetting myself, forgetting who we were. She'd been kinda off ever since EJ arrived, snapping, coming in late, leaving early, having suspiciously long 'lunch meetings', the look of pure hatred in her eyes every time she saw EJ, the slightly odd rattling sound you heard when she walked. It got so weird I even asked Gibbs what was going on, it was the first time I had ever seen him truly puzzled by our personal lives, it was not a experience I wanted to repeat. I wanted so desperately to hold her like a child and tell her it would be okay, but I couldn't. Because as much as it pained me to admit it, it might not be.


	3. Chapter 3: Synagogue

Author's Note: I would like to thank all of you for reading, setting up alerts, and reviewing. The symptoms of Ziva's PTSD are entirely imagined, I mean no disrespect to those suffering from it, these symptoms exhibited were merely how the scene played out in my head. Yes, I am aware of the fact that people are never dressed as matchy-matchy as Tony and Ziva are when they go to synagogue however that's how I pictured them so that's how they are. The Hebrew swear words came from the internet so I am not totally sure if they are accurate, if they aren't they if you could be so kind as to drop me a line and I'll fix them post haste.

Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with NCIS or Android Lust

I felt the bed slowly sag as Tony climbed in and got settled. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. A few minutes later I heard his gentle snores start up. I felt a chill begin to coarse through my body, it was going to be one of those nights.

Being careful not to wake Tony, I crawled out of bed and grabbed my pills. I could already feel the sweat caking onto my body, sticking to my clothes and plastering my hair down my back. Then the shaking came, violent and uncontrollable. Having lost all remaining balance, I clenched my pills in my mouth and begin to crawl like a baby towards the bathroom and dragged myself inside, kicking the door shut behind me. I delved into the mass of plastic baggies for the appropriate medication, fingers shaking, losing about half the pills to the floor in the process.

'Lech lehizdayen1' I muttered

'Zi…um…Eris are you okay?' Tony called from the other side of the door. Apparently I had not been quiet enough.

'Red li me'agav'2 Interestingly whenever I am like this I typically revert to Hebrew.

'I can't understand you, you're speaking Hebrew.' I hear a prickle of fear creep into his voice. 'Are you okay? What's wrong?'

'Leave me the fuck alone!' I snarled, using that last of my self-control to utter those words. Then the worst part started, the memories, they are as real as they day they happened.

Alone in a small filthy cell for hours on end, I can hear the rats scrabbling around me, thankful that at least I cannot see them writhing around me. I sit praying for some shred of human contact, but when it comes I regret it instantly. It comes in the form of Saleem, a twisted, sadistic pig, who in some twistedly ironic way is the only reason I am still alive. My burning hatred of him is the only reason I will see the next day's, figurative, light. The urge to one day feel his heart in my hands, to see the fear in his eyes, to let him know that he created a monster and that monster shall be his undoing is what keeps me going each day.

It was not so bad after I got back, I had dreams, but I could cope. Then EJ and her team showed up and Tony was after her like a puppy, her shiny new toys, her bigger, better team, her willingness to screw anyone with a penis and half a brain. God, it was pathetic. And that is when I started to slip, before I had always been able to contact Tony if I needed something and thought I rarely did it was a comfort to know that I could, but now I felt unwanted, like I was a burden. After I saw them together in the copy room I shut down the elevator for an hour and bawled, I started cutting myself, getting drunk a lot, it was pathetic. So I got a shrink. Not that Cranston woman, who even though she would never admit it, absolutely hates me, for being related to the person who shot Kate, for taking Kate's place on the team, for stealing Kate's Tony from right under her dead nose, for any multitude of sins, just a normal person that I could tell my abnormal woes to.

~o~

Tony rolled over in the bed before starting awake, noticing the unfamiliar place. A note sits on the night table in Ziva's small precise hand. He was confused by the slightly cryptic reminder of 'It is Saturday.'

'Maybe I could have a Matrix marathon…' he mused.

'Did you not read my note? It is Saturday.' Ziva yelled from downstairs, stressing the word Saturday, as if it had some strange meaning for him. ' We are Jewish Jonathan. It is Saturday, it is Shabbat, we are going to Synagogue, thus no Matrix marathon for you mister.'

'Shit, why'd we have to be Jewish?'

'Suck it up.' Ziva yelled, 'Your suit and tie is hanging on the closet door, bagels are on the counter.'

'Wait, don't I need one of those hat thingies?'

'I have that for you downstairs.'

Forty-five minutes later the Silverberg family was off to Synagogue. Eris wore a black pencil skirt and a navy silk blouse with a cream and navy tallit, with her long black hair twisted up in an elaborate knot and Jonathan wore a light grey suit with a navy blue tie and Ziva's father's kippah. To any casual observer they were just the average jet-setting couple.

Tony stared at Ziva all through the service, he was surprised to see how at ease she looked, how calm and peaceful, even after when they were meeting the congregation outside she looked like a fish in the water, where as he felt like a dolphin in a flock of seagulls.

~o~

We had decided that every Shabbat Tony and I would meet Gibbs, Vance, and any members of the team who wished to attend for lunch, ostensibly for an update, but really so that Tony and I did not kill ourselves and each other. Vance, Gibbs, Abby, McGee, and Ducky were waiting at the table when we arrived.

'Why Tony, don't you look dashing?' smirked McGee

'Shut up.' Tony mumbled, 'This reminds me when I was five and my father made me get all dressed up and go to church. Then Dad got in a fist fight with the priest and we never went to church again.'

'Well I rather enjoyed it.'

'Of course you would Ziva, you're actually Jewish! Do you know how awkward it feels to pretend?' At this I went as ridged as a board and shut my mouth tight, I gave him a withering look before turning to Abby and asking about the latest Android Lust CD. Everyone in the group seemed confused by this, but all remained silent.

1 Fuck off!

2 Leave me alone!


	4. Chapter 4: The Land Of Might Have Been

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in a while, but my muse decided that she was going to go on vacation to South Africa without telling me, so the ideas were just not coming. For the scene at the party, just so that I don't confuse anyone, it's not what either of Ziva or Tony think, it's how others perceive them in their personas of Eris and Jonathan.**

**Sidebar: Have any of you seen the season closer to Castle. It was incredibly intense. I'm worried now through that the show won't be as good anymore. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

'Ziva?' I roll over.

'What could you possibly want with me at three in the morning Tony.' I ask

'Are you alright?' My defenses are up instantly

'I am fine.' I say evenly

'I heard you in the bathroom last night, you were screaming something about rats crawling over you and not being able to breath.' His voice radiates with worry.

'I am fine.' I hiss icily. I roll back over to my side of the bed and close my eyes, searching for an elusive sleep that will not come. Finally I am fed up with waiting, so, being careful not to wake Tony, I climb out of bed, pull on my robe and, closing the bedroom door behind me, head downstairs. I put on an Etta James CD and pull out the ingredients to my mother's Sacher torte recipe, something I knew by heart since I was a little girl. Cooking it has always brought me peace, it reminds me of happier times, when my family was happy and whole. Etta's mournful voice makes me forget my own pains as I slowly begin to prepare the cake I have made so many times previously. I smirk. Look at me, I'm standing in the middle of a kitchen in suburban America baking a cake. What has my life come too? I was always the femme fatale not the housewife. The steady motions of baking calm my mind, removing these thoughts, dulling my senses, forcing me to focus on the task at hand. We had been invited to a barbeque and potluck at a neighbour's house this evening. Tony comes down at 5:00, just as I'm putting the finishing touches on the icing.

'Yum, cake for breakfast.'

'Not a chance Mister, this is for the Amberson's party tonight.'

'Oh right, that thing. Well then, I'm gonna hit the gym.'

'Bye.' Feeling distinctly irritated for no apparent reason I go back to my cake.

~o~

Eris and Jonathan Silverberg knock on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Amberson's home at precisely 6:30 with a military-like punctuality that would make any drill sergeant jealous. They are a casual but well-dressed couple, he wears jeans and a white button-down, she also wears jeans with a gray v-neck sweater and a silver Magen David. He has his arm around her waist and her hand rests on his lower back. Everybody laughs at his jokes and is impressed by her cake. They quickly become the coveted neighbourhood ideal. They are the perfect picture of a loving couple. Whenever someone sets about to find something out about them, the busybody is left with the distinct impression that they had not got what they came for.

Eris is the centre of attention all night, as a small group of women quickly congregate around her, laughing, exchanging recipes, but primarily gossiping. Jonathan accumulates an equally impressive group of mates exchanging dirty limericks and debating the best running routes. One conversation, between Eris and Mrs. Amberson is particularly enlightening.

'So, how did you two meet?'

'In Tel Aviv, Jonathan was stationed there and I was working as a translator. We met through mutual friends who were in a very... Passionate... Relationship at the time, one that we were both trying to fix from opposite ends, which unfortunately did not end well. When I first met him he was having phone sex.' Her eyes twinkle as she says this, silently laughing at a long-forgotten joke, 'He asked me out dinner a week later, and we have been going strong ever since. It is quite possibly the most surreal relationship I have ever been in.' Jonathan looks over at the group of women, and an indiscernible look flashes quickly across his eyes. It is perhaps surprise, fear, regret, or longing, or possibly some combination.

'He loves you very much.' It is not a question, but rather a statement of fact. Eris looks momentarily surprised.

'Yes.'

'And you?'

'He is my life. Without him I have very little to live for, and the thought that some day he will leave me is unbearable.' She is not being melodramatic or a love-sick teenager, she is simply stating a truth.

'Are you girls talking about me?' The man himself appears at Eris' shoulder.

'Yes, _motek_.'

'Only nice things I hope?' She waves her hand in a jokingly non-committal gesture, the happy, worry-free persona firmly back in place. Mrs. Amberson smiles, feeling the love that radiates out of this young couple, reminiscent of her own marriage in it's youth. He gives Eris a kiss on the cheek.

'Oh come now Jonathan, is that anyway to kiss your wife?' The older woman asks jokingly. Grumbling, Jonathan hoists Eris up by her armpits and spins her around, giving her a full-on frontal assault that lasts at least a minute.

'Wow.' Eris seems surprised and self-conscious.

'Yeah. Um... Wow.' He seems as equally shocked. 'We'd better get going.' They give their thanks to the hosts before departing.

~o~

'_Chara_.' I mutter, he _kissed_ me. How is he going to separate 'work' and 'play' now? 'God Ziva, stop acting all high and mighty. Because that kiss defiantly won't affect your work either, now will it?' I think to myself. Tony shakes me out of my thoughts.

'So. I was thinking, that our 'inter-spousal relations' needs work.'


	5. Chapter 5: Walking To Shoot

**Author's Note: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've come up with a multitude of ideas for new fics and I'm trying to keep up with an ever increasing workload. Oh well,_C'est la vie_! I would like to thank y'all for your alerts and reviews. All the religious slurs I use are simply for continuation of the story, are NOT MY OPINION, and are not meant to offend anyone of any denomination.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

'_Chara_.' I mutter, he _kissed_ me. If I'm honest with myself, though I choose not to be in this case, Tony's elevated my heart rate and I enjoyed every minute of it. How is he going to separate 'work' and 'play' now? '_God Ziva, stop acting all high and mighty. Because that kiss defiantly won't affect _your_ work ethic either, now will it?_' I think to myself. Tony shakes me out of my thoughts.

'So. I was thinking, that our 'inter-spousal relations' needs work. In a purely professional way, of course.' I snort, purely professional my ass. But on the other hand, it could be fun.

'No. I am feeling the need to lay out some ground rules.'

'But Zivaaa...'

'Rule one: I am moving into the guest room. This is open to debate as long as you promise to keep to your side of the bed.'

'Fine, I'll keep my hands to myself.'

'Rule two: We limit all speaking to case or cover related topics and we only speak when necessary. This is not up for debate.'

'But-' I hold up a silencing finger.

'Rule three: I am not your mother. I refuse to clean your clothes, pickup your crap, wash your dishes, or do the brunt of the housework. This is so non-negotiable I cannot even _believe_ that I have to tell you this.'

'Fine.' He sounds like a petulant child.

'Rule four: Date Night is tonight and I hear the Navy yacht club makes an excellent duck confit. So Jonathan will be taking his lovely wife to dinner. Reservations are at 8.' I turn on my heel and march upstairs. I walk into the bedroom and slam the door closed behind me, before flinging myself onto the bed. I start to halfheartedly rifle through my closet, searching for something to wear. I finally settle on a on a green sleeveless shift dress with a thick black belt with a pair of black stiletto mary janes, I start to slowly apply my makeup, rimming my eyes with kohl, applying a layer of sheer lip gloss, and pinning my hair up into a simple French twist. I stop in the bathroom and pop a couple of pills into my mouth. This process has taken longer then I anticipated and Tony has become a little antsy, so I shove the tiny orange bottles into the vanity.

'Hurry up! Christ, how long does it take for you-' Tony's eyes are like saucers. 'Um... Wow... You look... Great.' I smirk, but inside I am beaming, 'Shit, wait one sec, I gotta pee.'

'I am going to wait in the car.'

When Tony returns he seem preoccupied. We arrive at the restaurant and are quickly seated. We chat amicably for a while before Tony's anxiety comes to a head.

'So, when I was in the bathroom guess what I found?' I feel a sinking in the pit of my stomach. 'It really was the strangest thing,' He pulls out my little pill baggie and slides it onto the table. 'If you have something you need to talk about...' I smirk despite the situation, he thinks I have some sort of addiction, and then the smirk slides off my face. He thinks I have an _addiction_.

'Shit.' I whisper

'You knowingly went into a situation under the influence of medication without informing anybody, putting me and our situation at risk.'

'Yes, _daddy_.' I snarl

'I'm your husband, why didn't you tell me?' His eyes are hurt, and I turn my head away, not wanting to deal with the unsaid accusations contained within their depths.

'What did you do with the rest of them?'

'I flushed them down the toilet.'

'I need those.'

'That's what they all say. But we're gonna get you some help.'

'No you moron! I actually _need_ those."

'I'll get you some-'

'Fuck this, I thought we ran the last of those dirty kikes out of here.' A man's voice, it impossible to pinpoint it's location in the noisy restaurant.

'-Help. Nobody has to know about this, not-'

'And there they sit, scumming up _our_ club.' The same voice

'-Even Gibbs. Zi- Eris, pay attention.' I whip my head towards him.

'Shut up.'

'What the hell?'

'Listen.'

'Don't change the subject.'

'No. Shut up and listen.'

'Fucking kikes think they rule the world just because of the fucking holocaust. If you ask me the Nazis had the right idea.' I grit my teeth, Tony and I share a look.

'I'm going to go to the bathroom.' Tony says nonchalantly. I nod. He leaves and a few seconds later my phone buzzes with a new text. '_This place is full of that crap_.' along with that I get a picture with some of the nastiest names I can remember being called scrawled across a beige wall.

Fifteen minutes later Tony still isn't back. Which means one of two things, he's fallen and brained himself on the sink, or the more likely but less appealing option that he's been taken.

I confirm this fear with a quick trip to the bathroom; where I poke around and take a few pictures with my mobile. I do not bother with evidence.

~o~

Do I tell Gibbs, or not? On one hand, with the team Tony would be saved much faster. On the other hand though, I am able to do this by myself, plus, in Mossad we were always taught never to abandon your partner, even if it is only to your team. And, I feel disgusting for even thinking about this, however, I have no clue whether Tony told Gibbs about my 'problem', if they have found out then I will never be able to save Tony and my career will be over.

I will not tell Gibbs for now.


	6. Chapter 6: Rather A Pasting

**Author's Note: I am sorry that it's taken me this long to update but my life's been super crazy. I know the thing about not being able to put in a basement is completely stupid but I couldn't think of any other way for Ziva to be able to narrow it down without calling Abby or doing a massive amount of reconnaissance that I don't have the brainpower to write. My translating program is completely shitty and Word is acting up today so if a sentence is in / it's in Hebrew and if it's in / it's Arabic. I've lost most of my inspiration for this story and am just trying to wrap it up since I hate it when writers just go 'Yep, I'm just gonna leave this story unfinished. Bye!', so I'm going to try not to do that.**

I am ashamed to admit it but sneaking around behind everyone's backs gives me a thrill that I have not felt since my days in Mossad. For once, sort of like the calm before the storm, the voices in my head have subsided and my mind is completely clear, emotions and insanities have been locked away in the back of my mind. I know that they will come back and rear their ugly heads with vengeance later on, but for now I am alone with only my training to keep me company.

In the end, as much as I hate to admit it, my father was correct about almost everything he ever taught me. You can never fully trust anyone but yourself. You can never have too much time, that time is precious. Family means nothing when it really matters the most. And as clichéd as it is and despite how much Tony would needle me for saying this, _everybody_ lies and _everybody_ dies.

I have begun to have trouble keeping track of the way time moves. I frequently find myself asking myself if something happened last week or last month, or if it even happened at all. So everything is happening all of the time and nothing is ever happening.

I pull out my gun from where I had it taped under my nightstand and start to clean it. I once told Tony I cleaned my gun because it helped me focus on the task at hand, but it is so much more then that. It forces me to remember, to be calm, to focus, but most of all to be in control of my motions.

I start to gather my necessary possessions, changing out of my dress and putting on the more practical long black running tights, a black tee shirt, my trainers, and pull my hair into a ponytail. I grab what little equipment I can find, toss it all in a backpack, and run out the door. I know that when we miss the call-in Gibbs will know something is up and try to extract us. I slip out the back door, through the bamboo that had been helpfully placed around the perimeter. I slow my pace and my brain, the part that N.C.I.S. never utilizes. The part that holds the ability to think like a killer (The part of my brain that _is_ a killer, I remind myself.) and calculate odds. It's doubtful that he is dead, they will use him to draw me out, they will be close, within the limits of the base, from the way they talked they will not be close to the Mosque or Synagogue, since the file said that the victims were tortured one can assume they will have a place, most likely a basement, to contain any sounds. There is only a mid-sized grouping of houses on base able to contain a basement due to some sort of geological thing. In the distance I can hear the sound of tires squealing, no doubt the progeny of Gibbs' awful driving, outside the house, reminding me that I had been stationary for a few minutes.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' I berate myself at my amateur blunder. God, where was my head at? I set out at a brisk jog, running towards the north of base. If anyone saw me they would think I was just an average jogger. Suddenly I hear a car backfire and I am back in Somalia.

_/Hello little piggy, are we ready to play today?/ The smell of Saleem's breath on my ear is disgusting. I can't see anything due to the large burlap bag over my head, and to be truthful I'm not entirely sure I want to be able to see the squalid filth I currently reside in. I sit in a stony silence so he switches to my native Hebrew._

_ /I guess not. Such a pity. I was so hoping we could be friends. However, just to show that I am a _reasonable_ person I will forgive you for your rudeness. I guess I'll just need to _persuade_ you a little bit./ A fist connects with my cheek, giving off a sickening crunch. _

_ /You will tell me, make no mistake, even if you won't tell me now you will tell me eventually. I will break you if I have to, I wouldn't want to hurt such a pretty little dolly like you but I will if I have to./ A strangled laugh bubbles up in my throat, little does he know I was already broken._

_ /Rot in hell/ I spit at him. Juvenile, I know, but what's a girl to do? My chair is kicked back and my head connects with the hard concrete, sending me spiraling into blackness._

'Excuse me, ma'am, are you okay?' A hand is shaking my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. I realise I am lying on the ground in foetal position.

'I am fine.' I snap and jog away, barely glancing at the Good Samaritan who saved me from my horrors. Fuck Tony and his stupid '_I'm just trying to help you Ziva_' bullshit, fuck Gibbs and his gung-ho 'I'm a fucking Marine who is poor and bereaved and therefore the best and completely fucking omniscient' attitude, fuck McGee and his I'm-a-fucking-genius-who's-a-completely-socially-pathetic-wounded-puppy-dog, fuck Abby and her I'm-so-happy-and-fucking-innocent-and-nothing-bad-ever-happens-to-me-because-I-shit-fucking-rainbows-and-pixie-dust, fuck Vance and his holier-than-thou-because-I-always-follow-the-rules-and-am-a-family-man-while-the-rest-of-you-are-just-a-group-of-random-messed-up-fucks-who-can't-do-anything-without-your-precious-Gibbs condescension. Fuck every single fucking one of them.

I pick up my pace a little more and it's all I can do to keep from screaming to the wind, screaming my derision, screaming my loathing of this godforsaken place. But I keep it all in, that's what I've been doing since I was a young girl so why stop now?

A shout echoes from a dingy looking house near the end of the block. The house is dark except for a harsh yellow light coming from the living room window. As I draw closer I can see the black garbage bag covering the basement window compress for a second before springing back out. Excellent.

I crack my knuckles and do a few stretches before circling the house, attempting to gain whatever knowledge possible from the exterior. The 'Ziva' part of my brain shuts off and all that remains in 'Operative David'. I take a small leather case out of my bag and start on the lock. It takes a rather shameful twenty second to unlock the rather simple Yale. I draw my gun, with the long and slightly cumbersome silencer already in place and creep through the house, the quiet only punctuated by the soft _swit-swit_ of the gun as each bullet finds its mark. There's two upstairs, a woman and a man, and by the sounds of it downstairs two more men. I creep down the basement stairs, keeping to the wall to avoid any unnecessary creaking, the gun goes _swit-swit_ again and the two men fall, a perfect red circle now adorning each of their foreheads.

Tony stares at me as he's never met me before.

'Who did this to you Ziva?' The question hangs in the air as I untie him and flick open my cellphone to call for an ambulance.

~o~

The paramedics slide Tony onto a stretcher and hustle him into the ambulance before screaming off into the night. I sit on the kerb, a shock blanket pooled at my waist and a half-smoked cigarette burning between my fingers, the butts of its predecessors scattered about my feet.

'What happened?' It's Gibbs, he looms over me, affecting a tone that I can only assume he is attempting to pass off as paternal.

'Tony got sloppy and we got caught.' It's only a partial truth but it's so much easier to just pretend it's All His Fault then explain everything (Even if I only explain it to myself). Gibbs seems to accept this and walks away, having more important things to do then watch over his irreparably broken field agent. I shiver against the slight breeze as the wind blows out my cigarette.

~o~

Tony sits at his desk basking in the attention from the parade of well-wishers streaming past his desk as I slink in, a week after the disastrous assignment. I keep my head down and avoid meeting his gaze. Agent Barret walks up to his desk, making some idle chitchat. His gaze never wavers from her face. With that every hope I ever nourished for an 'Us' combusts in a billowing cloud that almost brings tears to my eyes. We haven't spoken since his question and I doubt we ever will again.

Nothing ever changes.

Nothing ever will.


End file.
